


Whumptober 2019 26 - Abandoned

by frankie_mcstein



Series: Whumptober 2019 [26]
Category: Magnum P.I. (TV 2018)
Genre: Gen, Higgins as a mental voice, Self-Pity, Whumptober 2019, author has a favourite trope, poor Magnum, sad little p.i.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 13:00:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21179843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankie_mcstein/pseuds/frankie_mcstein
Summary: Whumptober 2019 prompt 26- Abandoned"They don't love you. They tolerate you. And, now they have an excuse, they'll abandon you."





	Whumptober 2019 26 - Abandoned

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally even shorter. But I felt rotten about where I left it.

It wasn't like this was the first time he had endured the feeling of his heart faltering. When he had been sprawled on the floor of that cell, gasping that he was going to bleed out, trying to focus on Nuzo's voice, he had felt every drop of blood as it left his body. Every breath had seemed to stop his heart in his chest, like he hadn't had the energy to keep his heart and lungs operating simultaneously any more. It was one of the things he remembered most clearly, how it had felt when his heart had struggled to keep beating.

He had blacked out before Nuzo had managed to get him back to the cell; the pain, the blood loss, the fear, it had been too much for his already weakened body to handle. He had spent what felt like years drifting in a sort of half-dead haze. When he woke up properly, days later, he couldn't get a grip on his memories except to remember the certainty with which he had thought the words, 'This is how I die.' The sense of shock he had felt- 'I'm not dead?'- had made his head spin and his breath stick in his throat. By the time his friends had realized he was panicking, he was out again. He remembered dreaming they had all felt the same sense of shock at his continued survival as him.

When he had recovered enough to actually sleep and to have nightmares, it was the memory of the feeling that would wake him. Not the remembered pain, not the noise of the blade sliding into his skin, not the flash of gunpowder, but the way it felt to have his heart sit still and useless in his chest. The way it felt as it strained to move, skipping beat after beat after beat. The way it felt as the warmth of his body was replaced by a cold that crept along his limbs, only to be replaced by a terrifying numbness as he lost more blood, as more veins literally ran dry.

And that was how he was feeling now. Okay, so he was still in the 'hideous, raw, cold' phase right now, but he could feel a frantic sort of rhythm starting in his chest. He knew it was only a matter of time before the feeling started to fade from his hands and feet, running after his body heat like his physical sensations were in an ill-advised race that was leaving him behind.

A deep breath sounded like a really good idea, but he knew, from painful first-hand experience, that he would regret it. First, his breath would catch in his throat, then his head would spin, then the pain would flare, hot and wicked, and steal away the breath he had just sucked in. No, better to resist the impulse, to deal with the quasi-panic that was stemming from the suffocating feeling that he knew was only going to get worse.

He tried to ignore the way his body was screaming, take his mind off it by focusing on something else. But the only things he could think of made him feel worse. How long it had been since he last ate. Or had something to drink. Or saw his friends. That last thought took on a life of its own, running through his pounding, swimming head, twisting and turning until every throbbing ache seeming to be telling him that, if they had bothered to look, they would have found him already.

Some small part of his mind tried to tell him that was nonsense. _ 'You know better than that,' _ it murmured.  _ 'Those three will tear this island apart to find you.' _

In all honesty, Magnum was surprised by how certain this mental voice sounded, because he wasn't certain at all. Some quiet whisper, with a distinct Afghan accent, was telling him that his friends were sick of his constant debts and favors. That they weren't looking. They didn't care. They didn't want him back. It was so easy to imagine the three of them sprawled on Robin's private beach, laughing and chatting, not even noticing he had gone missing. And it was so hard to imagine them turning Oahu upside down on his account.

The first voice came surging back, louder now, and strangely British, yelling at him to hold on. That he just needed to be strong for a little while longer. He didn't have the energy to listen to the words. Closing his eyes and hanging his head and letting the pain carry him away was just so much easier.

He was so cold. Why was he so cold? Had he dreamed Hawaii? Was he really still in the Korengal? He tried to force his eyes open, but they fought him, resisted the command. He didn’t mind too much; he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know if he was still stuck in that damn cell. If everything had been a dream, the escape, the island, the estate, Higgins, he’d rather cling to it a while longer.

_ 'Magnum?' _ It was that British sounding voice again.  _ 'Please, Magnum.' _ It sounded upset about something. Had he dinged the Ferrari again?

“Higgy?” Higgins was no dream. She was argumentative. And stubborn. And pushy. She pushed him. And he… appreciated it. Liked it. Needed it. He opened his eyes; they didn’t fight him this time. This time they sprang open eagerly, wanting to see Higgins. All that met him was the empty room. 

His heart sank. He might not have imagined Higgins altogether, but he had certainly imagined her being here with him. Was that because she just hadn’t found him yet? Or because she simply wasn’t looking? Would she just leave him? Would Rick or T.C. just give up on him? He was sure the answer was no. He was positive. But the voice in his head, the one that kept telling him how much he hurt, how much he wanted to go to sleep, it kept whispering that no one was looking for him. That no one cared that much about him.

_ 'Why would they want to find you? Why would they want you in their lives? You cause trouble. You cause problems. They’re better off without you.' _

He shook his head. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to shake the voice away or just trying to deny what it was saying. Sure, he was something of a mooch, but his friends loved him anyway. Just like they all loved each other despite all of their flaws. Rick used jokes to hide his feelings, and they loved him anyway. T.C. was quick to anger when he felt he was in the right, and they loved him anyway. Higgins hid herself behind a cold attitude, and they loved her anyway. And he was a trouble-making mooch, and they loved him anyway.

_ 'They don’t love you. They tolerate you. And, now they have an excuse, they’ll abandon you.' _

He knew the voice was wrong. He hoped it was wrong. But it was just so hard to ignore it.

"Magnum?"

The voice was so quiet, he thought for a second that even his mental Higgins was abandoning him. He let his head drop, not seeing a reason to stay awake.

"Magnum?"

That's weird. It sounded louder now. Was his mind doing him a favour and bringing the hallucination of Higgy back? Strange thing for it to go and do.

"Hang on, Magnum, please!"

Mental Higgy sounded worried. Just like she had before. But she couldn't be worried about him. She wouldn't be…

"Magnum! Open your eyes! Please, Thomas. Please open your eyes."

She sounded loud. And terrified. And there was a hand on his face, warm and gentle. 

Oh, the evil little voice was the fake one. Higgy was real. And she was right there. It was okay to relax now; Higgins would take care of everything.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> That's better. I need my soft ending.


End file.
